


in some sad way i already know

by runninohhoney



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Fix-It, Gen, Personal Growth, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel, basically me squishing a character arc for steve in the five seconds he was gone during endgame, so no steve and bucky don't bone during this i'm sorry, t rating for discussions of graphic violence, too many mentions of therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runninohhoney/pseuds/runninohhoney
Summary: Three times Bucky comes back for Steve, and one time it's the other way around.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	in some sad way i already know

**Author's Note:**

> does this wip have a long history... i started writing this shortly after watching endgame for the second time, and it sat unfinished in my docs for a long while. i retook it very close to the first year anniversary of the movie, right between my initial creativity boosts during lockdown, and i came back everyday to write on this until i absolutely loathed it. last night i opened this again, decided i actually don't hate it, and edited it to post this. and here we are.
> 
> i have a complicated relationship with endgame. not really love-hate. but the more i think about it, the more fondly that i look back at the things that i love about this franchise and all the excitement that i felt prior to its release and how happy and giddy i felt watching this on theaters. i've come to feel okay with its glaring problems, with some character decisions and directions. i've made peace with steve's ending and i'm excited to see what this franchise has for the future. i initially wrote this with pain and hate in my heart, but as the fic progressed and my thoughts about the movie changed, i consider this more of a love letter to what steve and the mcu means to me. so here it is, me trying to slide a character arc for steve. enjoy and please comment your thoughts and appreciations!!!
> 
> (title is from _like real people do_ by hozier, an incredibly stucky song if you ask me.)

I

Steve loses count of all the times he's been knocked into the ground and has dragged himself to his feet again.

There's only a handful of times where people beside him are there to help him. Most of those times Thor is there, yanking his arm roughly and efficiently and even offering him an excited smile, like he's proud of how much ass they've been kicking throughout. It's a warm sight, Steve won't lie. Although Thor has been rather a wild card lately, and he can't really think about an _after,_ not right now, but he knows there's work to do with him once they can properly sit down and talk.

There's other hands who help him up. Nebula, Rhodey, Thor's little tree friend - _Groot, that's the name, that's what he had said, in fact that's all he ever said-._ Even Sam pulls him up mid flight, turning around to yell something he doesn't quite understand before he speeds up on the air, out of his sight in less than two seconds.

But the warmest hand who lifts him up it's made out of cold metal.

In the midst of bringing Mjolnir back to his hand and turning around to check whoever is on his six, he receives a hit on the nape. The world turns dark for a second and he finds himself on the ground again, his free hand trying to ease the impact and now trapped under his body. He rolls to the side to throw his shield at whatever is attacking him, when he realizes there's an alien body stumbling around a couple of feet away from him, clearly wounded. He hears the faint sound of a trigger being pulled off and the impact of a bullet, and then the alien hits the ground.

Bucky has the tip of his tongue on his lip, his brow relaxing as he walks towards Steve, heavy breathing. He offers his arm at Steve and he takes it, mouth agape.

“The end of the world, huh?”, Bucky says, and a tired smile appears on his face.

Steve has no other choice than to swallow him on his arms.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there!”, he hears against his ear. He's really there, Steve thinks, stupidly joyous. It truly makes it all damn worthy.

The relief and euphoria lasts another second until he realizes that there's a world outside Bucky’s smile and body. He frantically looks around him, yanks himself apart from his friend until he makes sure there's no more enemies near them. There's now a blush creeping on his neck and cheeks, and he feels like an idiot for being so irrational.

“I, uh”, he starts, but Bucky waves him off.

“It's _okay,_ Steve”, he pauses and steps back to shoot at something over Steve's shoulder and looks at him again. Steve cannot look anywhere else. “How long has it been?”

“Five years”, Steve finds himself saying, so low that Bucky has to ask him to repeat it.

“Five years”, Bucky breathes in, his shoulders going up and down. Steve can't believe he's real, this is his body, he's really back. “So you're finally older than me”, he comments, his tone light and easy.

“I've missed you so much”, he hears himself saying, because apparently his brain-thought filter doesn't work anymore. Embarrassment makes him want avert his eyes to the side, but the way Bucky’s eyes snap up, staring at him while a genuine smile bares his teeth and makes his irises shine, makes him stay and stare.

“You sap”, he says, soft and quiet, like no one besides them is allowed to hear it. It should make him worried the way he can't stop looking at him, that there's noise everywhere else and a goddamned _war_ happening around them and he wouldn't dare to look at any other thing anytime soon.

“Lovely encounter, Cap”, Sam says on his ear, and the moment is over. “But I could really use some help right here, if the two grandpas don't mind it.”

Bucky snorts and brings his head to his in-ear. “Jerk”, he whispers.

“S’alright, as long as I get my hug too. I'm feeling a bit left out, you know?”, he continues. Steve’s face breaks into a grin and he shakes his head.

Steve calls Mjolnir back, and he doesn't miss Bucky’s proud smile as he wields it on his hand. It makes his heart jump, it builds hope inside him. There's time. They will have time.

“Well then”, he places a hand on his ear, throwing one last look to his friend. “Tell me where the fight is.”

II

When he woke up after 70 years on the ice, they told him they had won the war. They didn't tell him what they had lost.

It feels like that all over again. His lip quivers, his hands shaking on each side of his body. Thanos’ army is all dust now, and they had won, and this feels like the closure of something bigger than his mind could ever be capable of processing. But the consequences of what that could've brought to the entire world were starting right now.

He's glad Tony dies with the knowledge that the entire world has survived thanks to him, with his wife’s lips on his cheek, looking at his surrogate son and his friends, his _family,_ all the people he had sacrificed himself for. If there is even something to be glad about. Guess he'll never be able to say goodbye to the giddy optimistic voice inside of his head.

Truth is, Steve is _tired._ Tired of staying optimistic through the bad and worse and the worst. Tired of fighting relentlessly. Tired of appearing stern and strong, a front that has long outlasted his own grief and trauma. Seeing Tony's corpse right in front of him, his eyes stilled on the ground and his face burnt with an exhausted grimace as the last expression he had to offer to the world… Fuck it. Fuck it.

He disappears. He tries to walk slowly, in hopes that his body will understand and cooperate, but he's too tired to comply, and he places one wobbling leg after the other, exhausted and broken and so goddamn sad.

At one point, his legs give in, and he doesn't fight it. He sits on the ground, a grunt escaping his mouth when he feels the open cut on his thigh brushing against the other. All of those battle wounds, bound to disappear. The one on his heart feels deep enough to think it's gonna be with him, gaping and bleeding, until the very last day of his life.

Dark boots come into his vision, and Steve raises his head, blinks past the tears and sees the blurry shape of his friend, bringing himself in with firm steps although a little sway that gives his hesitation away. Steve glances at him until Bucky kneels beside him, breathing deeply through his nose. He knows he won't say anything, and he's thankful for that. There's only his calming presence next to him, and then a metal hand that falls on the curve of his shoulder.

In front of him, everyone kneels and pays their respects. Steve closes his eyes, wraps his numb fingers around Bucky’s hand on his shoulder, and it's enough for now.

III

There's a bench in front of the lake, and Bucky finds him there, after the funeral. He looks awkward, hands on his pockets and the lost look on his eyes that is starting to become part of him.

“Hey", he says softly, and sits down next to him. Steve can't bring himself to make any noises in acknowledgment, but he nods and makes him some space to make him feel invited.

He's wearing jeans. It had been unexpected for him: why would he attend the funeral when he was the one who killed Tony’s parents, when he was the one who helped to break the team apart so they would lost the battle against Thanos the first time around? But Pepper insisted, and Bucky had no fancy suit to put on, but he still complied.

There hasn't been a lot of time to talk, since the battle ended. The immediately effects of those who had been blipped returning back have been overwhelming, and there wasn't really that much time to sit down and chat. This is the first time alone Steve has had for himself in days; well, not alone anymore. He has missed Bucky, though.

“Long time no see?”, Bucky suggests in a small voice, and Steve turns his head to find a faint smile on his lips. He smiles back.

“Sorry, sorry, uh. It's been a complicated month.”

“Don't have to apologize, though. You deserve some time off.”

Steve leans his head. “Yeah, about that…”

He doesn't know how to start, so Bucky does it for him. “Fury came to talk to Sam. Apparently, you're going on the mission to return those stones.”

“I am, yes.”

Bucky leans forward, resting his upper weight on his elbows. He doesn't say anything for a while, and Steve wishes he had sit on the ground so he could pick up leaves, do something with his hands while he waits for Bucky to say what's in his mind.

“Steve”, and he looks at him, eyes fixing on the conflicted pull of his brows. “What did you see, in the 70s?”

The people have started to scatter away from the front of the Stark house, so it's easy for Steve to catch on a slim, blue-colored body, almost unnaturally still on its place as Morgan squeaks and runs into her. Nebula barely flinches when the little girl wraps her arms around her middle, even brings a hand up to pat her shoulder.

He looks away, and doesn't know what to answer. Instead, he hunches over his lap, looking at the nervous sway of Bucky’s feet where they're hooked over his ankles and his own hands clasped firmly between his knees.

“Will you be able to forgive me, Buck?”, he says from what it feels the darkest corner inside his soul. There's a sudden swelling on his throat, and he presses his lips together.

Bucky’s feet move one more time, and it's like time freezes for a couple of seconds. “Only if you make it worth it", he says, words clear yet quiet. Steve’s heart bounces in his ribcage, feeling both heavy and hollow when he feels a melancholic, almost comedic delivery to his words.

They sit in silence for a couple of minutes more, and then Steve stands up with an excuse on his lips and a new weight over his chest. There's a lot to prepare for his last mission.

***

The arrival of the dark elves doesn't even apply like a distant memory on Steve's head - it's simply not on his records. He hadn't been on the states, instead getting his energy up on a shoe-sized motel while following on a promising clue for a Hydra base on the German countryside. He barely remembers watching it on the news the next morning, a shitty tiny television pushed on the corner of a table, making conversation with no one as they awaited for permission to proceed with the mission. Not that he really understood the fast-paced German words, or had a chance to question Thor about it later.

His strongest memory about it was the lopsided, fond smile that Natasha gave him as she shoved her phone into his face, and there it was, 6’3 feet of norse god squeezed inside a train in the subway. It would've gotten a laugh out of Steve if he weren't so aware of the receptionist’s already alert eyes stopping to check on them every time she turned around. A smile had done it, then, and Natasha tucked the device carefully into her pocket, like she wouldn't destroy it as soon as they finished the task and went back to the headquarters.

The photo had been everywhere, and it always struck something inside Steve, made him feel a little less lonely to see a timeless god so out of place, out of time. Looking back to all the times he saw the picture after that first time, he wished he'd had spent more time glancing at that smile on Natasha’s lips, relaxed and genuine. Or making small conversation. Or nudging her softly with his elbow. Anything.

Rocket had caught Thor in a better mood a week into their new normalcy, and he was eager to help him develop a scarily alien-looking gadget to put the stone back on Dr Foster’s body. Steve was still careful around him, but with the equipment heavy on his hands, the red glow almost distracting inside of it, he kicks himself for not asking for more details. Dr. Foster is a big name for the unconscious woman laying in front of him, her eyebrows high on her face, like soaking up in the relief of having the stone extracted out of her insights. Steve hesitates for a second, lamenting the inevitable task - where else is he gonna leave the stone? -, and turns the device on.

A flashy, whooshing sound cuts through the atmosphere in the room and the red glow evaporates from the inside, coming to rest on the unwilling body on the bed. Steve gulps and then notices the doctor’s eyes fluttering open, and he's frozen in place.

She drags her eyes over him, body barely moving as it yet again makes space for the element, and there's no signs of recognition in her stare. Steve has gotten older, has moved away from his first missions in an unflattering comic-like costume, but there's a higher possibility that the dizziness and state of her body do the work better than his looks. He could be easily disregarded as a vision of her tumultuous mind - if her brain works hard enough to connect the dots after she wakes up, that is.

He then weights Mjolnir on his hand. He figures Dr Foster would be a lot more familiar with that weapon than Captain America himself, but her stare is just as clouded. He doesn't even have the time to wonder where to put it, feeling its comfortable weight on both of his hands for what's probably the last time, until something shifts in the air and Mjolnir flies off of his hands, shattering the elegant crystal of the closest window on its way out. Not a lot of time until the soldiers chasing Rocket down the hallway make their way back, then, but he's done with the task and is ready to go.

He remembers the sad pull on Thor’s lip when Banner told him he'd have to return the weapon. Steve entertains himself with the thought of Thor making a similar expression upon his confusion at getting his weapon temporarily stolen, and he presses the button of his suit with warm eyes still staring at him.

2012 Steve is right where he left him. Steve buckles up, knowing he's about to carry an unconscious man who weighs about the same pounds as him. Less, if he's lucky.

He's not. Dragging him around looks like the best option he can take, and he's glad the floor is slippery enough. As he pulls his past self’s body in the first broom room he stumbles upon, he spares a thought for the janitors of this place. Captain America falling to their feet as soon as they open the door will be a nice story to tell someday, at least.

Right before he closes the door, he hears a faint sound, repetitive and commanding. Steve freezes for three seconds before he looks at the communicator buzzing against the helmet. When he leans down, he can hear Clint calling his name over and over, claiming it's an emergency. Steve leaves the earpiece right where it is, reflects on how long it would take other people to find the body and fix whatever thing the scepter did to his brain, and leaves the scene as fast as he can.

He finds the rest of the Avengers on the lobby, the place full of Shield - _no, Hydra-_ agents, talking on their phones and moving in groups around the first floor.

“Any way that you can find your brother?”. He should've expected it, but Tony's voice makes him feel like someone is punching him on the guts. He forces himself to stay in character.

“Not until he shows up again. I need to let Heimdall know, and he'll inform me of his future endeavors.”

Natasha has a hand of her face, and the wound on her lips has opened again. “This is a disaster.”

Tony presses his palms together. “Can we go eat first? Please. Please.”

“Is he always like that?”, Steve hears from Clint, and Natasha quirks her lips, twisting her neck slightly.

“What else can we do?”, Steve comes in, absolutely not wanting to do anything with whatever comes up next for them. How in hell did Stark and Lang mess up so badly?

“Man out of time, good to see you again”, Tony says, sarcasm all over his tone. Steve has to hold a huff in when he thinks about how that nickname has never fit him better than right now. “So you left us to change into…”, he moves his hands, his eyes dragging down Steve's tactical suit, and his stomach drops to his knees. _Right, the suit._ “...something more comfortable?”

Steve opens his mouth, but no lie comes out. He should've thought of this sooner, what an _idiot_.

Thor interjects, probably tired of seeing so many humans at once. “It's okay, Rogers, we will resolve this in Asgard. Shall we leave now, then?”

Tony presses his lips together and signs with two fingers to the door, and everyone starts moving. Steve panics for a second; he was supposed to leave immediately. If there's a reason he's risking everything right now in an universe where everything turned out to be more fucked up than it already was, then it's _this._

“Stark”, he starts, and lowers his voice once Tony turns around at him, his eyebrows high and expectant. “I need to talk you.”

Tony stands tall, his posture defiant and a hint of curiosity on his eyes. “Spill it, Cap.” His fists are balled up, and Steve feels irrationally angry at that.

He throws a nervous look to the room, where his teammates’ expressions rank from slightly amused to undeniably curious. Fuck it, he thinks. This is something they all need to hear.

“About what I said earlier… I was wrong”. He gets the first reaction from Tony: his head moves back slightly, taken aback. He looks ready to reply, but Steve isn't finished. “You were willing to die for all of us.” He breathes in deep. He's never wanted to embrace him on his arms so hard on his life. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony blinks three times. Steve likes to think that he sees gratitude on his eyes, but it may be his own biased judgment hoping for a good reaction to the words he's been wanting to say for years.

“Okay, you guys got me. Barton, Thor, no need to continue with all of this. Turn the camera off. That was _hilarious.”_

It's not hard to fake annoyance at 2012 Tony, Steve finds out.

“Stark”, he says in an exasperated tone that has Tony breaking in a genuine smile. He realizes how much he's missed it, barely managing to keep serious.

“It's okay, it's just…”, he shakes his head, brings his hands to his hips. “It was good fighting with you. You're a good man, Cap”. He slams his right hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezes hard enough for it to matter. Steve has to use all of his strength to remain on his place, his arms twitching with the thought of letting Tony go again. He holds his gaze. Knowing that this is the last time he'll ever talk to him, having Tony be loose and carefree around him is incredibly rewarding.

“Gentlemen”, Natasha speaks. Steve had completely forgotten there were more people in the room, and he backs up, embarrassed. “It's a lovely moment, not gonna lie, but let's finish this soon, okay?”

He doesn't have time to drink on her, spare some minutes to talk: in 2012 Steve has known her for a week, not eleven years. There's things they have to live, moments they have to go through in order to trust each other and become the family they ended up being. So he takes another step back, still looking at her, and Tony's hand drops from his shoulder.

“I have to do something first.”

He hears Thor joking about toilets behind his back and then, nothing else.

Steve waits until Bruce is gone, then shows himself to the Ancient One. She is sitting cross legged on the top of the building, and despite that calm and thoughtful aura surrounding her, Steve has been around soldiers and heroes long enough for him to realize how deeply overwhelmed and exhausted she actually is.

“You're not Banner”, she says when Steve hands her the time stone.

“He's busy at the moment. Told me to thank you on his behalf.”

The Ancient One picks up the stone, examines it between her fingers. “No need to. If it wasn't for Strange, we wouldn't be here right now.”

Steve shrugs. He doesn't know, doesn't really care now. He's tired of thinking of the war.

She tilts her head up and waits until Steve squirms under her eyes before speaking again.

“You have to know, happiness isn't circumstantial. It's not a matter of where you are.”

Steve realizes why he feels so weak and exposed under her hard stare. She looks at him like she knows every little dip and corner of his mind.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“It's worth giving it a shot”, she says, and with that she walks past him. When Steve turns around, the Ancient One is ignoring him, disappearing behind a door and into the building. He excuses himself to no one and disappears in a flash of light.

He finds Peter Quill in Morag, lying on his face meters away from the stone's location, and when Steve kneels beside him he can hear the music blasting from his earbuds. He carefully picks him up and moves as fast as he can, praying that no company shows up in the planet in the two minute run that it takes him to throw the thief on his own ship’s floor.

He doesn't count on the redhead-- no, the _red-skinned_ woman staring at him from the lower cabin, her eyes full of confusion and then fear as he caughts on the sight of a stranger standing on a foreign ship, its owner dropped unconscious at his feet.

“Are you going to kill me?”, she whispers, and Steve frowns at the sheer terror on her voice, unsure of what to do now.

“I am not”, he tries to adopt his most reassuring tone. On the floor, Quill begins to stir awake, and the woman's face goes back to the confusion. “I won't kill your friend, either.”

Quill stands up too quickly, looking at his surroundings and then bringing his hands all over his own body, checking his guns and pockets, palming softly around his middle and coming up until he loosely grabs the headphones on his neck. Then, he fully devotes his attention to Steve.

“Who the fuck are you?”, he demands.

As non intimidating as he's trying to be, Steve knows he's an unknown, stern-looking big guy, whom he probably thinks knocked him unconscious and then inexplicably brought back to his own ship. Steve raises his hands, backing down.

“I was wondering if you could give me a ride.”

Peter shoots up his eyebrows. “Well, I'm not a driver, sweetheart.” He takes a step back, clearly wanting to see if everything is in order but not wanting to turn his back to the stranger. “And I have stuff to do. Leave the ship right now and I'll let you go, weirdo.”

“What're you gonna catch, thief?”, Steve asks, walking to the side. Quill’s eyes follow his movements, the disgusted grimace on his face growing bigger. “Maybe, this?”, the eyes immediately drop to Steve's pocket, where he carefully digs out the orb.

He looks stunned for a second, but his voice comes out collected. “That looks a lot like what I'm trying to get, yes.”

Steve looks to the side just to verify the woman is now out of sight, forgetting about appearing non-threatening. Peter immediately takes the chance to draw out his gun and point at Steve's face as he brings his other hand to his ear, but Steve's reflexes are faster and his hand slaps the gun, the laser striking once against a corner of the ship. As soon as the impact is done, Steve has Peter firmly wrapped in his arms.

“Here's the thing, Peter Quill”, he says in his ear, missing Peter’s reaction at him knowing his identity, “I did not come here to fight. I need a ride to another planet, and I need it fast. Ronan’s army is here, ready to take down whoever has stolen the orb, and once they check that no one is inside the cave they will find your ship, and I won't do anything to stop them from taking you. But if you take me where I want to, I will sit here in peace, and I will give you the orb after we're done. No tricks. No ‘shortcuts’. Deal?”

He makes a pause so Quill can hear the sound of the soldiers approaching them. “You'd want to make a decision fast. Fight me and them and get killed, or make a quick stop nearby and keep the orb.”

He wonders if under the commanding sound of his voice and his own squirming, Peter can feel the uncertainty and sporadic tremble of his hands.

  
  


He agrees. Of course he does. He's a professional thief, and if thieves are good at one thing, that is getting away with things.

Having spent years working with Rocket, Steve can see the similarities between the two. Peter’s ego coming through in everything that he says, pride and arrogance in almost everything that he does, his snarky comments cruel yet casual. He tries to imagine him and Tony working together in Titan, but the concept alone drags a snort out of his chest.

And thinking about Tony makes him aware of the deep wound on his middle that cancels every other thing, so he clenches his jaw and concentrates on what he has to do.

“Vormir, man”, Quill mumbles, a quiet interlude between all of his big talk. He shakes his head. “The hell is on Vormir?”

Steve wants to know that, too.

As promised, he gives back the orb to Peter. Despite Quill’s distrustful aura, the final encounter goes quite civilized, and when he takes the prize he stares at him in utter confusion one last time.

“Who are you?”

Steve looks up at Vormir’s purple sky. It's a gorgeous sight. He doesn't get sunsets like that at home.

“I'm from Earth, too”, and this time he can fully appreciate Peter’s double take. “I don't think I've ever been to Missouri, though.”

He arrives just a little late. There’s a cloud of light coming from the ground, turning the sky white. Steve knows what’s happening, Clint had told him. Not everything, but enough that it makes his eyes drop to the ground. His foot catches in the irregular ground and his knees buckle. But he can’t give in, he can’t break, not yet; there are still things to do.

Just when he thinks the climbing is never going to stop and considers taking a rest, a dark figure approaches him from the dark of a cave. His reflexes have him on a defensive position, his body always ready for the challenge.

“Steve Rogers, son of Sarah”, says the all-too-familiar voice. It makes Steve's arms fall to his side, the suitcase swinging on his right hand. He sees a half formed nose, a hard chin, scarlet skin shining where the hood doesn't cover it. If the Red Skull recognizes him, he doesn't show it.

He won't either, then. Steve frowns and gets his right foot a little behind him. “I've come to return something.”

The smallest glimpse of surprise shows in the Red Skull’s face as Steve opens his left hand and the soul stone shines on his palm. He thinks about Thanos standing in the same spot as him. His hand stays firm, but the Red Skull says nothing.

“Curious thing”, he finally says on his strong accent. “You're not the first one to ever return it.”

He turns around and slowly moves inside the cave, and Steve follows him. He quickly realizes the rocks are more of a portal than a chamber, and his eyes follow it to the edge of the mountain. He suddenly feels sick.

“Natasha Romanoff, daughter of Ivan”, the Skull says, then, fresh to his memory. Steve turns around. He tries hard to not imagine her there, willing to sacrifice everything for the universe, for them, for Clint.

“I… just wanna return it”, he says, sounding like a stubborn kid. It's like the stone has grown bigger on his hand, heavier.

The Skull stares at the horizon. “Can I ask why?”

Nausea hits him like a wave as he holds it on his hand. It's a beautiful rock. An exchange for her friend’s soul. Steve thinks about the different timelines, about not ruining the order of the universe.

“It has achieved its purpose”, he simply says.

He doesn't notice the Red Skull approaching him until he's right in front of him, and the hand doesn't feel real when he takes the stone.

“Do I get her back?”, Steve hears himself saying, his voice weak and airy.

The Red Skull says nothing. Steve thinks, if someone told him in 1943 that he would meet the Red Skull again in another planet eighty years later and they wouldn't be at each other's necks, he would've punched that person on the face.

“I've been asked that as well”, he finally answers.

Light starts coming down, and Steve closes his eyes.

He is no longer on the top of the cliff. There's water around him, just water and the horizon. He remembers, then, what Clint had told them about waking up in a shallow lake with the stone on his fist. He opens his hand and sees nothing on it.

What he does see is the silhouette of a body getting up far away from him. A black suit glistening on the sun, bright and braided red hair moving from her back to her shoulder.

Steve can't breath.

It takes Natasha a second to realize where she is, and then she turns around. Her mouth moves.

Steve gets up as quickly as he can, stumbling around the rocks beneath his feet, a desperate race to find each other again. Natasha comes at him just as fast, and the embrace knocks his breath off, but he holds on tightly, gripping her arms and her back, feeling the texture of her clothes and the soft kiss of her hair against his mouth.

“Steve, Steve”, she mumbles against his chest. It immediately breaks something inside him, and it's like the lock holding all of the pain he's been hiding for years crashes open, and he finds himself shaking, sobbing, weeping. Peggy, Natasha, Tony. He squeezes her against him until his lungs feel like exploding.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that. All that he knows is that he can breath again and the tear tracks on his cheeks are starting to dry off.

“Did we make it?”, she asks, softly. Steve pulls back and sees her one-sided grin, and he breathes in. He brushes the hair off her face, carefully cupping her head.

“We did. Thanks to you.”

“Good to know.” Her hands grip his waist, none of them ready to let go.

Holding her, looking at her, watching her face and her smile, makes him think this is the happiness the Ancient One was talking about.

“Is Clint okay?”, she whispers, the smirk disappearing from her face.

“He got his family back. He's so grateful. He's…”, he hesitates, not sure of what to tell her. He quickly realizes that he owes her the truth. “He misses you so much. He's trying to forgive you.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Forgive _me?_ For saving his ass? He's crazy. Laura would've killed me if I had let him die.”

He chuckles softly, feeling like the smile on his face will never truly go away.

“You're not the only one who made the sacrifice”, he starts, because he has to let her know.

She nods and looks at her feet.

“Tony.”

That surprises him. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Natasha looks up again, her brow furrowed and her eyes glistening. Steve wants to tell her he died surrounded by his loved ones, knowing they had won and all the battles had been fought, that there was nothing else to repair. The words get stuck on his throat and he realizes that he doesn't really mean them.

The silence turns out to be the correct answer. Natasha closes her eyes and leans her forehead against Steve's, and he doesn't need to read her mind to know that they both think about him for a minute.

“Can you”, he then says, his voice thin and hesitant, “do you think you can go back?”

She widens her eyes like the possibility of returning hadn't been on her mind. Her hand goes down, and she pats her suit right above the Pym particle is supposed to be.

“I still have it”, she mumbles, and looks at him in the eye. “Will it work?”

Steve is not sure. Something about this feels ethereal, ephemeral. He appeared here in the blink of an eye, and this sure looks like he's still in Vormir, but he feels like holding hope for Natasha to actually be alive again it's just that: unrelenting yet unfounded hope.

“You look quite alive to me”, he says, placing his hands on her arms and squeezing. He meant it to sound playful, but it comes out flat and severely unconvincing.

Natasha huffs and her characteristic smirk appears. “Don't lie to me.”

 _Don't bullshit me, Rogers._ Steve gulps.

“I still have to return one stone”, he starts explaining, and that's where he notices the suitcase is nowhere to be seen. He separates himself from Natasha, looks around him. There's only the water, the sky and them.

“What's wrong?”, Natasha says. Steve doesn't have the heart to look at her.

“Hey”, he says, and grips her arms again. “Come back to us”, Natasha nods. Steve's fingers are clumsy when he shows her the date and place programmed as his last jump. “I'll meet you there. I have to get something…”, he gestures around him, “the stone, first.”

Natasha’s expression is unreadable. She moves her hands slowly to adjust the date on her suit, barely taking her eyes off Steve's face. He sees the questions on her stare, but they're too overwhelmed to talk, to imagine the possibilities of this not working.

He looks at her eyes one last time, and then she disappears in front of him.

He's back in the cliff. The suitcase is there, as he hoped, and he walks the necessary steps, looks at the necessary rocks to take it. He adjusts the time on the suit, ready to go, but his feet don't move.

The Red Skull is at the edge of the cliff, the ends of his cape dancing like smoke in the wind.

 _Did you love your friend? Did you respect him?_ Steve presses his eyes shut.

“Will she come back?”

The Skull turns to him, enough for Steve to catch the cut of his nose and the red skin. “I don't know. No one has ever returned to inform me.”

 _Yeah,_ Steve thinks, making his way out of the portal. _You won't know it from me, either._

He spares a thought for whoever is losing their coat and hat today and puts them on, moving efficiently yet calmly. This time, no one really stares at him, and he makes his way quickly to the underground, putting the stone in the box and darting a little look to the side, where what it seems to be Tony and Howard make their way out.

He doesn’t linger, though. It still hurts too much.

In the wait for the elevator to come down, he sees Zola. His head is buried in a small book, his hand moving to his nose to push his glasses up his face. Steve’s body is washed by an irrational wave of anger: he wants to walk up to the little man, shove his thumbs into his eyes until they pop out, break his spine and leave him screaming until he loses his voice, see the desperation in his face as he welcomes the death. But the rush is immediately replaced by fear: Zola is walking up to his direction. Steve knows it’ll take one look to recognize the face of Captain America.

The elevator comes down first, and Zola doesn’t even avert his eyes from the book as he walks past him, door closing just as he disappears from his visual field.

He's done. He could’ve done it right now, no elevator required. Just type in the date and go back. But no, there are still things to do. Steve squeezes the two Pym particles left on his suit. He’s got time, he’s got time.

Steve gets a folder full of papers under his arm, promising himself this is the last thing he'll ever take from this timeline. He walks confidently through the same hallway he did before, not daring to dart any look behind him before putting his hand on the doorknob.

“Hey!”, he hears, and a cold rush runs through his back. He tells every part of his body to relax as he turns his body to the sound, casual as ever.

“Mornin’", he welcomes the man walking to him. He's blonde, probably on his fifties, with a bushy moustache above his thin lips. He's dressed on a suit, which is a good sign: he wouldn't know how to get away with this if an armed guard or soldier blew up his cover.

“Morning. What are you doing here?”. There's a hint of hostility on his voice that immediately triggers Steve's defensive instincts, but he remembers what Natasha taught him and lets go of the knob, his hand hanging loose next to his hip.

“‘S just, ah", he clutches the folder on his hand and waves it around, and the severe blue eyes of the man follow the movement. “Gotta deliver this to the director's office.”

The man brings up his eyebrows and places his hands on his hips. “Well, seems like you haven't been around here lately, huh?”. Steve relaxes more at the casual tone, and shrugs with an easy, apologetic smile. “Carter's office's been recently moved. Mind if I dropped them for you…?”

Steve doesn't hesitate. “Stevens", he says, the hand gripping the papers growing sweatier. The guy nods solemnly, and holds his hand out to grab the folder.

“Actually”, Steve says before his muscle reaction takes from him the chance to see her again, “can you show me the way around there? There's a lot of orders to do this week, I better know where I'm going.”

The man looks at him for one second, then nods again. He leads the way, and Steve forces himself to remain calm, keeping himself from looking at every person who passes by them.

“Here it is", the man announces after a couple twists and turns, pointing at the new sign engraved on the window. “Be quick, she doesn't like when strangers linger too much on the office.”

“Thank you, sir", he tips his hat and the man presses his lips on a polite smile before walking off.

Steve feels how his muscles begin to untangle and truly relax once he opens the door, finding the place alone. It's much bigger than the little room he had been in: makes sense, giving her status in the workplace. After leaving the folder on one of the side tables, he examines his possibilities: there's no way Peggy won't freak out after seeing him here. At best, she'd faint at the door and bring people's attention; at worst, she'd call security or she'd fight him, in the same way his old self had done it (and Steve won't fight her, of course, he _couldn't)._

It could be as easy as putting a bullet on his head _(would she?)_ and the entire talk would go to waste.

He thinks about hiding under the desk, waiting for the best moment (the least worst), the most appropriate (the least inappropriate). He doesn't know if he'd fit there, if she wouldn't immediately find him under the elegant nameplate, the bright lamp, the pictures of her family.

Her family. Steve stops, frowns, picks up one of them. It's Peggy as he remembers her from the 40s, brown hair beautifully styled as she smiles at the camera, her arm under the armpit of a guy with a stern look, a crutch on his other side. He doesn't pick the other one, but he leans in so he can see both of them holding kids - _their_ kids. Black hair, brown curls. The little girl has her smile.

He glances at the huge lock on the door leading to the old room, where Steve had been just days ago. The lock rests heavy and timeless like a broken promise.

His mind clears immediately, all at once, and he steps back, realizing what he was about to do. His own picture on Peggy’s old office… how could he have been so selfish?

There's the familiar weight of the compass on his pocket. Steve reaches on the other one, pulls out one of the Pym particles. Damn, was Steve tired of always doing what was right. But the thought of coming back, the thought of replacing the man who made Peggy smile so wide on those pictures, the thought of curly haired, blonde kids with blue sky eyes… He squeezes the compass over his pocket, heart hollow and stomach dropping as he thinks of how selfish, how unfair all of his thought process has been.

Dizzy as he feels, he drops his weight on his forearms right over the meaningless papers he'd brought to the room. The tiny selfish part on his brain that refused to shut up made him imagine the compass put right over the sepia toned folder, but the thought yet again squirms under Steve’s skin. It's not right, it's simply not. He won't mess with her brain, he won't make her look after a clue that won't lead anywhere. Bracing himself with closed fists over the table, he gathers strength to fish one of the Pym particles out of his pocket. It rolls softly before it sets on the center of the folder, the bright red contrasting the faded yellow of the folder. He can only return one to this timeline, and sincerely hopes that Hank Pym forgives him for that.

After that, there's only one thing left to do. Steve grips the particle on his fist, once again feeling the crushing weight of his questionable behavior running cold on his shoulders and spine. He looks at the date on his watch, stares at it like it would change anything.

He disappears on a bright flash of light, two seconds before the door handle shakes and opens.

_+1_

Steve keeps his eyes open the whole way back home.

He sees the cabin of his dreams, a place his old self would've loved to call his. Trees and branches around him. The platform beneath his feet. Natasha gasping right by his side. The only surprised stare directed at him belongs to Bucky.

He holds her, helps her down to the ground, lets Bruce hold her other arm so they both can take her to another place. He knows he'll have some stories to tell, but right now he holds Natasha’s wrist on his shoulder and mutters some instruction on his captain voice, and everyone follows through.

It's a busy week, after that. Before T’Challa goes home, he approaches Steve in a cautious way that has him immediately directing his eyes to the dark, circular bag the king holds behind his body.

“A gift from Shuri”, he says when he hands it to him, almost apologetically. Steve looks behind T’Challa and sees the girl in question, waiting just outside the ship with her hands clasped elegantly, and she flashes a toothy smile and jerks her head up and forward. Steve waves back, a soft smile barely forming on his lips.

There's no secret what's inside it. Steve takes it with both arms, feels the light weight of the shield on his arms. He thinks about Shuri seeing him on the battlefield, a stolen weapon on his right hand and a broken shield on the other, and her fast mind immediately thinking about how to improve it. He's thankful for people like her, a new generation with genuine hope and care for the world that will do anything to improve it for all of its members. He looks up and smiles at the king.

“Thank you, T’Challa”, he says. He murmurs an apology and walks away towards Shuri, who looks just a little taken aback at being approached by Steve himself.

“Good morning, Captain”, she still says with a smile.

“About that”, he doesn't waste any time. He grabs the back of the package, shakes it slightly in front of her, trying to find the words. “Do I have your permission to do whatever I deem necessary with this?”

Shuri blinks. “I'm afraid I don't understand”, she says slowly.

“I'm incredibly honored you have designed this piece for me. But after all that has happened I don't know if I'll be that quick to step in the front line again.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth, hoping that's enough because he feels like an asshole for underappreciating her own work in front of her. But Shuri relaxes into a small grin.

“You can do whatever you deem necessary with it, _except_ destroying it. I'm particularly proud of this one piece.”

Shuri has every reason to be. The shield has the patriotic aesthetic the old one had shown since the 1940s, yet the technology that makes him far superior than its original version. It looks even better on Sam’s arm, covering everything from his torso to his thighs but not the surprised glow on his eyes.

“How does it feel?”, Steve asks with a smile.

Sam looks up at him. “Like it's someone else's.”

Over anything, Sam is a good man. A noble, gentle soul, with an extremely loyal spirit and an undeniable faith for individuals. Steve couldn't think of anyone who could handle the title of Captain America better than him.

There's not an ounce of hesitation on his voice when he says, “It isn't.”

Two days later, he stares at the bottom of the lake with the compass in his hands. The picture inside of it shows a woman whose companion and friendship he appreciated for two years and treasured for many years of his life. A woman who found her true love and had her lovely children and lived a beautiful life on her own. A woman whom he had imagined settling down with for years only to discover, almost too late, that it was not what they were meant to be.

There are no hard feelings when he drops the compass in the water. He thinks about the woman who moved on and grew to be a different person than the woman the met not only once, but twice during his life, and thinks that it's time that he follows her steps.

Curiously, he's never felt more love and respect for Peggy Carter than when he lets her go.

And then, Bucky is the only one left.

He's sitting on the same bench they'd spoken the last time - what Steve, what _both_ of them had thought as the last time. The sun is low on the lake, and Bucky leans his head to the side to catch the last sun rays on his cheekbone, on the reddish highlights of his hair. Steve smiles to himself, a reflex at this point, and plops down at his left side.

“Hey", he says. They haven't spoken to each other since he got back - it's just been too busy for that. At times, it felt like his heart was always poking out of his sleeve, with the way people reacted around him, or even _looked_ at him, like they knew something had changed inside of him. It was both an uncomfortable and thrilling experience, as it had been years since people treated him like the fragile, misplaced new guy in the team that you had to be careful with. This time it doesn’t anger him, though: it makes him feel more like a human, less like a soldier.

Bucky was probably the only person who could've broken the stare-but-don’t-approach pattern, but he kept his distance. He said the necessary words to keep things moving, but more often than not Steve caught on the worried knot between his eyebrows when Bucky thought he wasn't looking. It was hard to take the first step; all things considered, the universe hadn't been kind of them. But now that they had the opportunity, Bucky had been waiting for the occasion.

This is it, then.

“How's Natasha?”, Bucky starts.

“Better. Bruce was able to run some tests, and they all seem okay. He's sending some of the results to Shuri, see what they can get from that. Not that it will help us to recover the soul stone without a… yeah", he shrugs.

Bucky turns around, his teasing smile igniting something on Steve's chest. “And what's the casual, non-Fury answer?”

Steve chuckles, throwing his headhead back in embarrassment when he realizes he still activates his robot soldier mode. “She's fine, a little shaken up. I talked to her this morning. She told me she'd start to get some, uh. Therapy. She will visit Clint and his family when she's around there… But for now, she'll stay alone for a little longer.”

“Therapy”, Bucky repeats after a pause, and Steve feels a sharp pull on his stomach. “Want to take some of that myself, dunno. Y’know, got something like that when I was on Wakanda but. It's not the same, I guess.”

“That… that sounds great, Buck", excitement tumbling around the last syllables. Bucky nods solemnly, eyes tracking the movement of the wind on the grass.

“You should consider that, too.”

Oh. Steve squirms at that. After having everyone be careful and cautious around him after the mission, he's definitely not used to the challenge that Bucky himself is, looking right through him and picking out his biggest concerns like it's nothing. It's… refreshing, sure, but it takes him off guard and he opens his mouth to discover that he doesn't know what to say.

Bucky is well aware of his reaction, as he casually shoots up his eyebrows and leans in with a side glance. “Two weeks ago you were on a mission that took you all around the universe, you re-met the people that are no longer in this timeline. I ask you about our friend who has miraculously raised from the death, and you give me the most impersonal answer one could dream off. Something's not good there, Steve.”

Steve knows that Bucky already asked what he saw there, but for some reason it feels like he’s asking again. It's almost like a deja vu, in the way it looses one of the locks inside of his mind, and the words drop out with no control nor finesse.

“It was- I saw”, he cuts himself off and Bucky’s head jerks to his direction, so hard that he would’ve found it funny in any other context. “Peggy- she married someone, she had a family. Kids. She was _happy._ I couldn’t do that to her, just… mess with her head after she moved on, just because I, I thought I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t have the guts to look at Bucky, so he doesn’t. The tips of his ears blush and he knows that it’s painted all over his face, the shame and guilt and embarrassment. It’s been all over his dreams, the picture of Peggy with her kids, the husband that he was always aware of and never asked about when he went to see her on an hospital bed and her eyes still showed that fierce sparkle he’d remember from the war whenever she looked at him. Up until that point, before SHIELD went down, all of those thoughts had been locked up inside of his head. It was only there that he allowed himself to be selfish, to be petty, to mourn the life he could’ve had and never got back. Or so he had thought, he thinks bitterly, and one of his eyebrows lifts.

“It's funny”, he says. “We blamed Stark for not doing anything for us because he had a family, his people. Because he had gotten lucky.” He looks at the horizon, shakes his head. “The moment I got lucky, I almost did the same thing.”

Maybe Stark would’ve liked it if he lived the life Tony ended up giving up in favor of saving the world. But he figures that he also could’ve taken a kick out of Steve learning the lesson and taking his path, shoving his selfishness away and paying back his debt with the people that had always been there for him. Maybe there was a strange, uncovered area where doing the right thing also meant doing the right thing for _himself,_ but for once, Steve isn’t keen on going through the motions to find it out as soon as possible.

He darts another look to Bucky’s face, hoping they're the right words. His heart skips a beat when Bucky’s stone cold look finally breaks, and his lips quirk on an amused smile.

“See”, Bucky says after a moment. “You did take all the stupid with you.”

The little shove Steve gives him is totally earned. Bucky snickers and leans forward, an easy smile on his lips. Steve thinks about the difference of his attitude, about Bucky all grim looking at him while he was on the platform, fearing he'd never come back.

“I still feel like I owe you an apology”, he tries, tentative and with his heart on his throat. Bucky doesn't tense all over again, not quite, but the smile falls from his face. “I could've asked you… I could've done a minimum effort to know what you were going through.”

This is part what makes Steve the most scared - he no longer has the advantage of an empty room and his forced solitude to make sense of his thoughts, to realize the things he was doing wrong. He'd thought it was his time to be selfish, for once, but was it really a decision that would never affect anyone else? Maybe Peggy - and he feels a wave of embarrassment hit him again - wouldn't ever _know,_ there was no way she could, and that did make things easier. But Bucky’s right here, his hands slowly drawing up in fists over his knees.

“I don't… I don't, I've never needed-", Bucky winces, and Steve lets him take his time. He's talked enough. “I don't know, Steve. Not to bruise your ego, but I would've managed just fine without you.”

There's no bad blood behind it, not an ounce of pettiness on his deliver, because it's the truth. Steve figures that he must feel ashamed, for making it all about him again, but under all of that, relief is what crosses his entire body. It's… a new lesson to learn, like the universe hasn't give him enough to think about.

But then he looks at Bucky again, sees a familiar glint on his eyes and the pull of his smirk as he raises his eyebrow - ah, it was a joke, too. He smiles, surprised, a startled laugh making its way out of his convoluted chest. He feels the tension disappearing between them, and the prickle under his skin finally disappears. It would be easy to continue the back and forth and make him laugh, but he wants to do this well.

“Still", he says, putting his left hand on the edge of the bench. He hesitates and keeps the other one loose on his lap, afraid of breaking into Bucky’s space. “I wasn't a good friend to you, all things considered.”

Bucky had been on the room when he told Fury about his decision to pass the mantle to Sam. Steve had been careful, almost not wanting to turn to see his expression, but there was a soft smile on his face as he listened to Fury’s reaction. He had met his stare and that had felt like it was enough, and he knew that the choice was exclusively his, and it made _sense,_ but for someone who prided himself on being Bucky’s only connection to the past, he made little effort to sit down and have a real conversation with him. And he could muster a million of excuses for that, but that's what they always were: excuses.

He almost gives up on hearing an answer from Bucky, when he shifts slightly on his seat, thigh pressing against Steve’s knee.

“You came back, though.”

He did. He still thinks it isn’t enough. But it’s not the time to say anything about it, not with Bucky sighing and drifting his eyes to the side. He looks at his crinkles, his cheekbones high where he’s pushing them with a smile, and the words of the Ancient One echo in his head again. She might have been a bunch of steps ahead of him, but Steve kicks his leg in the air and starts to think that maybe he’s catching up.

“I'm going back”, Bucky says. He catches Steve's confused eyes and keeps going. “To Wakanda. It's… it's starting to feel like home, over there.”

Steve can't think of no way of expressing how happy it makes him feel that Bucky gets to call somewhere his home again. He bounces his leg again, straightens his back and then leans forward. “That's real good”, his smile all over his words.

He thinks about Wakanda, about Shuri making her snarky comments and her 21st century references he almost never understands, T’Challa being a highly competent king and an even better entertainer once he got more loose; about the security of living on a hidden city, so advanced yet so true to its roots. He thinks about waking up at midday to the goats’ noises, about opening the door of his house -his _home-_ and seeing nothing besides grass, trees and sky. He thinks about seeing Bucky everyday, seeing him smile and talk and move, building something that isn't nor the friendship they cultivated as kids nor the lukewarm calculated interactions they have had so far in this century.

He thinks about all of that, and how he'd never wanted anything more.

“Do you think”, he says, staring at the lake. “That I could go there? With you?”

Bucky plays with his fingers, a way too human habit that has him pulling a smile on his lips he's not totally aware of. Bucky takes his time, breathes in and out, swallows and over anything, stays silent.

“Yeah, man”, he then says. There's joy all over his voice, so contained that it slips on everyone of his words. “Of course you can come.”

With his thigh pressed against Bucky’s leg, Steve thinks about the unspoken. They both know Steve almost went back for the one whom he deemed the love of his life, yet stayed and chose this life, chose _him_. He thinks about the implications of that, the conclusions Bucky may have come up with.

He meets his eyes again, drinking on his peaceful stare and fond smile, not wanting to look anywhere else. Yeah, they'll have time to sort all of this out. They have all the time in the world.


End file.
